


Breakers

by mad_lemming



Category: Take That
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:23:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_lemming/pseuds/mad_lemming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dancing is what Howard and Jason do best. But 25 years is a long time to dance around your feelings for somebody…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakers

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Contains nothing absolutely explicit, but touches on mature themes including alcohol abuse, a sexual act of dubious consent, depression, and suicidal thoughts.
> 
> +++++
> 
> My first post on AO3, but not my first TT fic! Written for the First Annual Take That Slash Big Bang. This one has been one hell of a slog and there was more than one point where I genuinely wanted to throw the towel in, but I somehow managed to make it to the end of the story, and I hope you do too! :P
> 
> Thank you to my dearest Jo for not only giving me a brilliant beta in a shockingly short time frame but for also holding my virtual hand and reassuring me that I'm not as shitty a writer as sleep deprivation and a frustrating lack of character cooperation was leading me to believe I was. 
> 
> Thank you also to Pauline and Monika for being amazing co-moderators and organising this whole shebang whilst I was otherwise incapacitated. Ladies, this Big Bang would literally have never happened without you.
> 
> And finally, thank you to Sarah for her beautiful artwork that she created for 'Breakers', which you can take a look at here: http://ice-cream-skies.livejournal.com/12525.html

In a small council house in Wythenshawe, Manchester – or at least, small in comparison to the large number of people in the family cooped up in it – a thirteen year old boy sat on the rust-coloured carpet with his legs crossed and his eyes fixed in wonder on the screen, his nose almost pressed against the glass of the fuzzy television in the corner of the immaculately kept living room.

“Jason, duck; move yourself back from that thing before you get square eyes, eh?”

His complete lack of response to his mother’s request earned him a cluck of her tongue and a shaking head, but not much else. She could see what he was so enraptured by – he had Top of the Pops on, and that Rock Steady Crew malarkey were there dancing on it. Two weeks ago Jason had upturned his piggy bank and ran out to the record store up in town, returning proudly with a cassette tape in his hand. It’s all he’d been playing ever since.

Jenny understood what it was like to be besotted by a song, but this obsession was a little different, because these boys danced, and lo and behold her boy wanted to dance just like them. She’d caught him at the weekend in the front garden from her vantage point at the kitchen sink. He’d been armed with a scraggy piece of linoleum he’d dragged out of God only knows where, attempting to spin on his head. It had taken all of her maternal discipline not to let a giggle out at his woeful attempt – the one that began with his legs flailing uselessly in the air and ended with him lying flat out on his back with a vaguely perplexed look on his face. She’d gone out to him then, drying her hands on a towel and bending down, picking him up off the floor and brushing the dirt off of him.

“Now what’s all this about?”

Jason had sighed and looked at her with unhappy bright blue eyes – eyes that would grow a little greyer and a lot wiser as his years went by. “I want to dance like them, Mum, but I’m not very good, am I?”

Jenny had only smiled in sympathy then, putting her hands on his shoulders. A few years ago she’d probably have gotten on her knees to speak to him properly, but he’s just become a teenager and is growing taller quickly. He’ll overtake his father soon enough, and she reckons both he and Justin will probably be big six footers, just like her father was. 

She also knows that he’s now of an age where the advice she gives him might stay with him forever. It’s a big responsibility – a parent’s responsibility – and she’s disinclined to leave anything inspirational up to her husband; not with the way things are between them lately. This town, this city, the world at large could be so grey and harsh sometimes; something she knows first hand. Jason, meanwhile, is a dreamer for certain – has been since he was knee high. He’s the quiet, thoughtful one out of her brood, and God knows it’s hard to be a quiet one in a household as loud as theirs. It leads to him getting a little lost now and then. So if he’s picked up a passion, she won’t be the one to kill it. Everybody needs a dream to hold onto.

She’d squeezed his shoulders gently, looking at him with fond sincerity. “Jason, if you give up now, you’ll never know how good you might turn out to be. Hard work rewards; remember that. Patience rewards. You work hard and be patient, and you never know – one day, there might be somebody who wants to dance like _you_.”

And Jason had smiled – that bright, sunny, infectious smile of his – and she knew she’d said the right thing. Neither of them had known that day how prophetic her words would eventually turn out to be, or know that in the future, a flash of that smile would set a thousand hearts racing. Nor did she know just how deeply Jason would take the idea of being patient to heart.

*****

Six years after a boy and his mother had a heart to heart on a stage of discarded kitchen flooring, another boy with his heart set on dancing is on a stage in front of whooping hundreds, hot and sticky as he hits each step and move in his group’s routine, the noises of the crowd spurring him on.

Dancing comes naturally to Howard. His father is a dance instructor, and that’s what prevented him from falling into the trap of believing, like other lads he’s grown up with, that dancing is the pastime of girls and gays. Judging by the looks of adulation in the eyes of the spectators, the fact that a display of agility and rhythm is overwhelmingly attractive seems to have been curiously overlooked. He also doesn’t give much of a shit that some of those adoring gazes are coming from the eyes of men. He might not swing that way, but he’s flattered to know that there are people out there that would quite like to shag him right now, regardless of gender. It means he’s doing something right.

A final move and hold, the epic swell of music as it ended, and the roar of approval from the crowd signalled the end of The Royals’ routine. The noise reminded Howard just why was is the best hobby in the world. There was nothing like the reward of a little stroke of the ego for something you’ve worked hard on. The crew took a moment to indulge the crowds at the barriers with gratitude as they headed away to the locker rooms of the Apollo Theatre. Now offstage, Howard’s confidence slipped back into a quiet but contented place, and he wanted nothing more than to get changed and go back to watch the rest of Manchester’s bright young things prove a point to those in the crowd.

He was towelling off his hair when Reggie gave him a nudge with his elbow. Reggie was the leader of The Royals – a cheeky bloke of 27 who was running with the emerging Madchester scene; spiky haired, a smoker, and with a mind forever sparking with new ideas, forming The Royals having been one of his better and more successful ones.

“Oi, How; nice moves tonight, you did good!” Reggie grinned. “Tellin’ you now though, mate – you’ll want to get yourself back out there and see who’s up next. Street Machine, how – those ones I was tellin’ you about? They’re the ones to watch.” His grin grew wider, considerably madder. “Consider them our rivals, How.”

Street Machine. Yes, Howard had heard of them – everybody in this theatre tonight had. They had a diehard little swathe of fans, and they were known for certain moves and tricks that nobody else tried. He liked the idea of rivalry – healthy rivalry, of course. Howard could be very competitive when the notion took him, and if the competition were to lead to him developing as a dancer, then even better.

So, after changing into clean, sweat-free clothes, Howard pushed himself through to the barrier to look up at the stage, holding on against the waves of people trying to jostle into a position with a better view. If these guys really were the ones to beat, then he wanted to get a good look at them in action to see how he had to improve.

The music started up again, the noise of the crowd flaring up to compete and be heard over the track. Out strolled the crew, as laid-back and cocky as was expected of them. Cockiness, though, would only get a crew so far. Far more important was the need to have the talent to back such an attitude up, and Street Machine had talent in spades. In every move, there was precision; timing; hours of practice. But there was one in particular; a dark-haired boy that Howard had found himself completely transfixed by. In him, there was something else entirely – an intensity in his eyes quite unlike anything Howard had ever seen before. Watching him made time itself feel like it was crawling by. Howard could pick up every move, every step as though it was all in slow motion; each bead of sweat as they rolled across the dancer’s skin and followed every little dip and peak of his physique, and each ripple of movement of the muscles and sinew under taut, smooth skin.

Howard knew him by name, of course. Anybody who had even a peripheral awareness of the Manchester street dance scene knew it. Jason Orange had a reputation that preceded him, and, finally getting to see him in action, Howard had to concede that it was a reputation well-deserved. He could happily sit back and watch that boy dance forever.

Howard suddenly found that, with that thought, his mouth was inexplicably dry, and he swallowed hard against it. He took a deep breath and tore his eyes away from Jason, letting them rest on one of the girls in the crowd for a moment to recover himself. He pushed those thoughts of how captivating that boy was over to her and her pretty face, her soulful eyes, safely wrapping him up in feelings that he was once more comfortable and at ease with. 

No room for thoughts like that. Not about a lad. Not in his world.

And yet, against his better judgement, he somehow found himself lingering back in the Apollo locker room at the end of the night. Most of the other dancers had headed off already, the last few leaving quickly. In the end, there was only him and one other person in there – someone else who was a lingerer; someone who didn’t rush, seemingly not for anything.

He was torn. A large part of him wanted to say something, but a larger part was fretting over what exactly those strange thoughts had been earlier on: thoughts about a boy’s eyes and a boy’s body. Thoughts he was worried might now come back to haunt him if he said a word. He shook his head, aghast at himself, and pretended to be rooting around in his gym bag for something again so as not to look overwhelmingly suspicious.

He missed the glance that Jason sent his way, and missed the hint of a smile on his face that was then hidden by opening the door of his locker.

No, thought Howard, no; he was being completely ridiculous. He’d had girlfriends, for goodness sake, and he’d enjoyed every moment of their company, in all ways. Just because he could appreciate Jason’s talent didn’t mean he wanted anything like _that_ from him. Why shouldn’t he say hello? Any chitchat would simply be an expression of admiration for a fellow dancer. Nowt wrong with that.

He zipped his bag up and slung it over one shoulder. “Um…” He licked his bottom lip nervously, biting it for a moment before clearing his throat a little. “…hiya.”

The locker door closed over with an echoing clatter to reveal the dark-haired boy behind it, looking over at him with vaguely surprised curiosity. His eyes, a muted shade of faded grey-blue, were startlingly intense up close, and Howard found it hard to keep his gaze up and not tear it away out of discomfort. Then Jason smiled, and it was as though the intensity of that gaze melted away into something warm and welcoming. Howard suddenly found himself feeling a lot less intimidated.

“Hi! You were watching earlier, weren’t you? I saw you by the barrier. You’re one of the Royals, aren’t you?” He grinned again. “You guys are good.”

“…really?” Howard visibly brightened, smiling despite himself. “Cheers… I was watching you guys and, _wow_ ; you’re amazing, you are. No wonder the girls love you.”

The other boy laughed, his eyes bright. “S’very kind of you; thank you.” He held out his hand. “I’m Jason, by the way. You are…?”

Howard reached out and shook Jason’s hand. “Howard. And…” He shrugged sheepishly. “…I already knew who you were.”

“Oh, did you now?” Jason smiled slowly but brightly. For the briefest of brief seconds he gave Howard’s body a quick eye from head to toe in a way that made Howard gulp hard, and he nodded. “…glad to hear it.” He picked up his kit bag, hoisting it over his shoulder. “I’ll see you around then, Howard. It was definitely nice meeting you.”

It only dawned on Howard once Jason had long left that the statement to see him again had actually sounded far more like a declaration of absolute intent than a suggestion, and it was with uneasy and unfamiliar excitement that he found himself hoping that Jason would be right.

*****

He’d come a long way from unwanted linoleum on a rough patch of grass; that much is certain. But as Jason moved and popped his body on another nightclub stage, he was fully aware that he still had miles left to go before he could get to where he wanted. Tonight’s tournament would hopefully see to that, or partly at least. Yes, he was dancing on the television now most weeks, but tonight, there were agents and talent scouts in the crowd. These were the people he had to get in with to get ahead, and so he was willing to plug every trick and impressive little move he could think into his routine to do what was necessary to win.

It worked. Come the end of the night, Jason was presented with a cheque for £1000 and another trophy to add to the steadily growing collection on his bookshelf. The trophy meant a lot to him, and the money would go toward buying his mum a nice holiday away somewhere for a week, but what he was _really_ interested in were the business cards and telephone numbers that came his way at the end of the night. Mercenary of him, perhaps, but it would hopefully pay dividends in the long run.

The Reno Club was playing host that night not only to a dance competition, but also to a man with an idea. It was an excellent idea, in his opinion – one that couldn’t fail if he was in charge. How hard could it be to make a successful boyband, after all? If you picked them pretty enough, talent didn’t matter; the girls would still come running with their money in hand. Mixing that _with_ talent – something he’d secured already via signing that Barlow lad to his company – and there would be no stopping them.

There was just one problem. Barlow was a clever lad and had a voice that was clearly heaven-sent, but he couldn’t dance to save his life. And he knew from seeing the band he wanted to copy that dancing was essential to his idea being a success. He’d been tipped off by one of the workers at his club to come here tonight to find a dancer, and he hadn’t been disappointed in the slightest. He now had his sights set on the boy who’d won – a pretty thing just like he’d been hoping for, and talented to boot.

If Jason had been aware of the true nature of the man who approached him, he would probably have fled in the other direction. He had a slightly chubby face and a goatee that didn’t suit him in the slightest, sweating from the heat of the club, but he had a grin on his face that was all at once intriguing and disquieting.

“You, lad,” he said, resting his hand on Jason’s upper arm. “What’s your name?”

“Er…” Jason blinked, slightly startled. “Jason. Jason Orange.”

“You?” beamed the man, “Are an _excellent_ little mover. Take this.” He pressed a business card into Jason’s hand. “I’m looking for singers and dancers right now for a major project. The audition is in a few weeks. You should come along.”

“Oh?” Jason looked curious, pocketing the card without reading it. Something about the man made him slightly uneasy, and he’d heard the likes of this offer all before. The only one that had ever proven itself had been his contract for _Hitman & Her_, and he would only risk leaving that if something truly better came along.

“Definitely.” The man began to move off to seek out other potential auditionees in the crowd, looking back over his shoulder at Jason and winking at him. “ _Trust me._ That is not an opportunity you want to miss. Call me when you’ve thought it over.”

*****

The business card lay forgotten in Jason’s pocket for another two weeks after that night. Between tournaments, television and work, he didn’t have much time for another audition, nor did he have much inclination to work with the odd little man on any sort of project. It took an encounter with his boss, Dennis, for Jason to reconsider the proposal.

Dennis was a Geordie but had been living in Manchester for a number of years. He was a gruff sort; short and rotund with broad shoulders and a bald head, but despite his generally grumpy demeanour, he was an unexpected source of encouragement to the boys under his wing and cared about them, even if he’d never admit it out loud. He reserved nicknames for each of them – Chubbers for Tony, who was admittedly less (or rather, more) than slim, or Jughead for Edward and his far-larger-than-average ears – nicknames that seemed cruel to any casual onlooker, but which the boys themselves knew were meant with affection and heralded that they’d been properly accepted into the Direct Works fold. Lacking in any particularly remarkable physical flaws with which he could saddle Jason with a moniker for, Dennis had opted for the next best thing instead.

“Oi, Dancin’ Queen!”

Jason glanced back over his shoulder just in time to be able to catch the dog-eared copy of The Sun tossed at his head, getting a large patch of paint splattered down his front in the process. He frowned, tucking the paintbrush in the large pocket of his dungarees and unfolding it. There, circled in black marker pen, was an advert.

**SINGERS WANTED.**  
 _Singers and dancers wanted for a new boy band. If you have what it takes, call Nigel Martin-Smith at his Half Moon Chambers office._

Jason frowned slowly. That name rung a bell, and he shoved his hand deep into his pocket, finding the battered-looking business card that had sat there for all that time – the one that the piggy-eyed man had pressed into his hand back in the Reno. Tugging it out again and turning it over, he read the name that matched the one in the paper’s advertisement, sat next to a silver half moon logo on a deep purple background. Half Moon Chambers, just like the address in the advert.

So, that man must have been Mr. Martin-Smith, and from the sounds of things he was being genuine about his project. 

“Boss? Is it alright to go and use the phone?”

Dennis rolled his eyes. “You lads and your bloody telephone call nonsense – honestly, it’s a good job for you that phone box is just round the corner of this place!” There was humour in his eyes, though – it’s a spiel they’ve all heard before, and besides, it had been him who’d passed the advert to Jason in the first place. “Aye, go on lad; don’t take hours though.”

Five minutes later and there Jason was, cooped up in the public phone box, having fed the last of his spare change to it to make his call. He’d reached Mr. Martin-Smith’s PA, a young lady called Nikki with a bright and sweet voice, who began to give him all the details of the audition day at breakneck speed.

“…and you can bring whatever song you like to audition with, whether you’re singing or dancing or both! The audition will be at four o’clock.”

Four? And on a work day? “Oh… I’m sorry, I’ll be working then. I won’t be able to make it.” Jason actually felt disappointed, which was strange considering that initially he hadn’t thought the project would amount to all that much anyway. “Sorry for wasting your time…”

The fact that Jason’s enthusiasm for the working day dipped considerably after making that phone call did not escape Dennis’ attention. He couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, considering that it had been him who’d passed Jason the paper in the first place. There’s something wrong, and Dennis vowed to rectify it the only way he knew how.

“Come on, Dancin’ Queen; you’re on tea.”

It never failed to amuse Dennis how his lads would immediately down tools at the mention of a tea break. This was especially true if Jason was making it. The lad might have been a bit of a daydreamer, but he could make a good cuppa, and they all knew it. Dennis had lost count of the number of times they'd foisted tea duty onto the lad.

Teas brewed and served, Dennis had wandered out of the house they were renovating to find Jason perched quietly with his tea on the small brick wall in the front garden, looking out at the road. He sat himself down beside him, folding his arms across his broad chest.

"So why's your face trippin' you then?"

Jason sighed. "No reason, Boss."

"Is it that audition thing? Did you get turned down?"

"No, they wanted me. But it's four o'clock on a work day, so..."

"…so?"

Jason frowned, looking at Dennis incredulously. "…well I'd be missing work if I went, wouldn't I?"

Dennis snorted. "And we'd not even notice you were gone, lad." He grinned at the surprise on Jason's face.

“Are you _sure_ about this? Don’t you need me here that day?”

Dennis gave Jason a withering look, shaking his head. “Oh, fuck off, lad. I’ve seen you prancing about ‘ere when the radio’s on – you don’t wanna be doin’ this the rest of your life, do you?”

“…not really, no.”

The older man gave a sharp, resolute nod, folding one fat arm across his body and leaning back where he was sat, taking a slow, contemplative gulp from his mug of tea. He swallowed, giving a loud sigh of approval. “…besides, you’re shit at decorating anyway. Gets you out from under my feet. Make a decent brew but; I’ll miss you for that...”

Jason couldn’t help but smile at that, deepest sincerity evident in his eyes. “… _thanks_ , Boss.”

Dennis huffed sharply, scowling and shaking his head. “Oi!” He reached up, giving Jason a short, swift slap upside the back of his head. “None of that, now – no goin’ soft on me, lad! Do it properly, eh?”

Jason laughed, rubbing the back of his head and clinking his mug against Dennis’. “Cheers, guv.”

*****

Jason’s life changed course entirely on a chilly, otherwise nondescript Wednesday afternoon. It was a week before Christmas, and Jason was wearing his best tracksuit and favourite cap. The basement nightclub that the audition was being held in was freezing cold in the absence of sweating club patrons to bring any warmth to it, and he was glad for the hoodie he’d brought with him.

So far, there were three other lads there with him. The first, Gary, struck him as a little too proud of himself for his own good, ambition oozing from him. The second, Mark, seemed sweet and polite, but appearances had the potential to be deceiving, and sweet people always left Jason wondering if they were sweet simply to cover their own blandness. The third boy, Robert, had struck Jason as a bit of a twat really – loud and overbearing and utterly convinced that he was funny. But then again, Robert reminded him a little of his younger brothers, and when Jason actually stopped and considered his age, a little boy trying to impress the older kids was all he could then see. Eventually he would come to recognise all of his judgements that day as unfair and ungrounded, but that would take time. And Nigel would never help matters.

Still, that was a lesson they would all eventually suffer. That December day, however, they were all simply excited at the prospect of potential fame and fortune. Or they would be, were they not waiting on somebody else to arrive.

Gary groaned, looking at Nigel impatiently. “Nige, what are we waiting for? Can we not get started already?” He was as keen to see what these other boys could do as Nigel was. He knew that he was safe, being the lynchpin that he was of the whole thing, but he wanted to know what he’d be working with.

“No, we can’t, ‘cuz this last one’s fucking late, that’s why.” Nigel checked his watch, humming disapprovingly. “If he’s not here in five, then-”

The door burst open, and up at the top of the stairs was their missing auditionee. He leant over the railing, panting slightly. “S-sorry – I had to finish up at work first, won’t happen again…”

The slight lisp in the apology made Jason’s ears prick up suddenly, and he pushed his baseball cap back to look up at the new arrival. When he saw who it was, he couldn’t help but smile brightly.

At the top of the stairs, Howard watched as one of the boys pushed a hat away from his face to reveal those muted but lively grey-blue eyes that had been haunting his sleep for weeks now; Jason from the Apollo, stood there and looking as effortlessly attractive as he had back at the dance hall and smiling.

Howard bit back the urge to lick his lips slightly out of nerves, settling instead for swallowing thickly and quickly making his way down the spiral steps of the club as an excuse not to have to look at Jason a moment longer. 

_This_ was going to make things difficult.

*****

"Jason. My office please."

The end of the audition day had arrived, and whilst Jason had been expecting some sort of talk from Nigel, he’d not expected to be called upon individually. He glances at the new lads he’d met that morning with slight bemusement in his eyes, receiving only looks of curiosity in return. 

"I was focusing more on the others back there as I'd not had the pleasure of watching them dance before. Not very fair on you though, is it? So I've elected to allow you to do a proper audition on your own." He smiled with dark eyes. “This is your chance to prove what exactly you’re worth.”

Jason naively took him up on the offer, wanting to demonstrate that he had as much to offer from his own skills as any of the others had. He happily followed Nigel into his office, thinking nothing when he closed the door and took a seat behind his desk.

Jason fiddled with his Walkman and his Rock Steady Crew cassette, fumbling with the headphones. “…sorry, won’t take me a second – there’s no player in here so-”

“That’s fine,” interrupted Nigel, leaning back in his chair with an appraising look on his face. “I don’t much care about what music to listen to for this or how you listen to it. The only thing – you can’t dance properly with that top of yours on.”

Jason looked down at his hoodie in mild surprise, but nodded, tugging it off over his head and leaving himself in his t-shirt.

“…I meant for you to get rid of that as well, boy.”

Jason hesitated then, stopping dead with a frown creasing slowly on his face. “…sorry?”

“Your shirt, boy, _lose it_.” When he watched Jason waver in uncertainty, he sniggered. “Jason. I will be expecting you to abide by the rules I set, including any rules regarding your image. You’ll be dancing shirtless in front of thousands if you remain a part of this project. If you can’t dance without your top off in front of me, what hope do you stand?”

Jason gulped hard, nodding in uneasy understanding, and tentatively peeled his t-shirt off. It was cold in the basement, and a flush spread across his cheeks at the stinging sensation in his nipples now that they were exposed to the chilly air. He jammed his headphones over his ears and tried to ignore the way Nigel’s expression switched quickly from appraising to lascivious, losing himself in his dancing.

“Very nice. That was _very_ nice.” Nigel gave a feline grin once Jason had finished and yanked his t-shirt quickly back onto himself. “Well Jason, I can tell you with confidence that you’ll be a perfect fit in this little setup. You’ve passed your audition with flying colours.” He leans back again, pouring himself a glass of strong scotch. “Now, is there anything you’d like to request of _me_?”

If Nigel was trying to make a not-so-subtle point by the way he rubbed his thigh slowly with one hand as he asked that question, Jason missed it. Jason had a habit of missing these things.

“Actually, there was _one_ thing. Did you not want to hear me sing?"  
The others had all had a turn at singing individually, but he hadn't. He wasn't about to claim himself as the world's greatest singer - he'd just sat and listened to the others after all, and wouldn't dare compare his voice to Gary's, for instance - but he liked singing and was willing to take lessons if it might help him improve a little.

Nigel smiled softly, shaking his head. "I'm not interested in your voice, Jason." He cast a quick glance downwards, raking his eyes over Jason's body subtly. "I'm more concerned with your other talents. Play to your strengths and don't kid yourself you can do things that you're incapable of."

That stung, sharply. It left a scar across his confidence that never fades, even with the most encouragement possible on offer to him. It also made it quite clear that he had earned his place here for only one reason, and one reason only, and should Nigel ever become bored of watching him, he would be very, very easy to discard.

*****

To give Nigel the credit that he was due, despite his unique and often tension-inducing management style, he’d kept his promise on one thing at least: that they would find fame and fortune thanks to him. It was hard work, but Jason always remembered what his mother told him; hard work rewards.

Nigel would often forget how young they all were most of the time, but was reminded when they get their first Top 40. The news filtered through to them in the bed and breakfast that they were bunking down in, and it was Robbie’s poor bed that bore the brunt of their overexcited celebrations with the five of them jumping up and down on it and screaming. They’d have gotten away with it too, had the forty year old frame not protested so strongly against their rough treatment and collapsed under them. The five boys had ended up in a pile on top of one another on the floor, laughing their heads off. They weren’t laughing quite so much when Nigel gave them a bollocking the next day after the po-faced, scowling geriatric of a landlady had screeched to him about their terrible behaviour and outright vandalism. They had, of course, started grinning and sniggering like schoolboys again the moment his back was turned, but they’d be damned if they’d ever let him catch them doing it.

The more they get to know each other, the more they end up drifting into their own little groups. Mark and Robbie became close, due to their similar ages and their own peculiar little sense of humour that seemed almost designed to purposefully block the others out. Gary was happy with his own company most of the time, holing himself up and writing songs for hours on end so often that the others barely got a chance to see him. When they did, it was Howard who he got on best with – something to do with their shared love of groan-worthy jokes and simple, uncomplicated food and drink, tea in particular.

And then there was Howard and Jason.

What began as a mutual appreciation for one another’s skills quickly blossomed into a tight and trust-bound friendship. If Howard had thought there would be a difficulty in getting along with him, he was wrong. The only difficulty lay in making sure he wasn’t _too_ friendly with Jason. The temptation was there, _always_ there, especially when they were alone with one another putting a routine together. But he always brushed any little mistakes off as their relationship having evolved to a curiously tactile one. Anything further with Jason was a door that he didn’t really want to open for the fear of destroying the good thing that they had with one another already.

Jason was dealing with his own temptations too. As he’d grown to know Howard, he’d moved from admiration and respect to something worryingly close to whatever he thought love might be. Not just the love for a friend or a brother, but _love_.

It had begun just a few weeks after the band’s conception and had only grown worse from there. Howard could make these beautiful, iconic shapes with his body when he danced that Jason simply loved to watch. His commitment was admirable, his body extremely desirable, but what he loved about Howard was his heart and his soul – eyes that had the depth of an old spirit with a life lived twice over, yet glittering with a cheeky youthfulness and a warmth that drew Jason to him like a moth to a flame.

They’d always joke about who was the better dancer. Howard would often concede that to Jason, but in Jason’s eyes, Howard was the better person. Howard understood other people, something that often eluded Jason, and he could never fail in making Jason laugh. His mother had always told him that the person who would eventually steal your heart would be the one who could make you laugh the most, and Howard had stolen his away.

Not that he could do anything about it, of course. He would never be Howard’s type, of that he was certain – not unless he went and had a sex change. Besides, even if Howard had liked the company of men at all, things would have had to remain frustratingly neutral between them. One whiff of a relationship between two male members of a squeaky clean pop megagroup and the sharks of the press would circle in a scandal that not even Nigel’s not-inconsiderable damage control skills would be able to keep quiet.

They managed a whole three years into their lives as members of Take That before one of them finally slipped up. 

Pray had just hit Number 1, and they’d somehow managed to convince Nigel to allow them to have a rare night out unsupervised. “Go on, Nige.” Gary had smiled cheerily, left with the task of cajoling Nigel because he was the only one who was capable of doing so. “Give James and Paul a night off, eh? They’ve earned it.”

They never quite figured out why Nigel relented, considering the tight element of control that he preferred to have over his boys. But he did, and not a single one of them hung about to question him on why. His only condition was that they all made sure to attend their rehearsal the next day.

It was a condition that Howard didn’t think Jason was going to quite be able to meet when he found him at the end of the night. A lack of drinking for quite a while now had lowered the tolerance to alcohol amongst them across the board, but Jason was definitely the worst of them, considering his low tolerance for booze anyway. It had been Howard who was volunteered to somehow get the staggering breakdancer back to their hotel in one piece.

It was proving to be a task of Herculean proportions. Howard had lost count of the number of times he’d had to straighten Jason up again and, at one point, bumping into a potted plant in the hotel foyer had elicited a string of slurred apologies from Jason that Howard had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from laughing too hard at.

“Jesus, Jay, how wankered are you?” Howard shook his head with a wry grin, hauling Jason’s arm over his shoulders as they veered off to the left again. They fell against the door of the hotel room they were sharing, battling with the card key. The third attempt finally got the door open, and the two of them fell straight through, barely avoiding a straight crash down onto the carpet.

“Come on, Jay, let’s get you in bed, eh?”

“Sss’that an offer?”

Howard’s head snapped toward Jason. Jason grinned and leant in quickly, smelling cigarettes and vodka on sweet breath, but before his lips could brush against Howard’s, he felt him jerk back in his arms and rough-skinned fingers press tightly over his mouth, stopping him dead. 

Howard fixed Jason with a stare that was full of alarm. He watched as Jason blinked blearily in confusion and stood up straight again, or at least, as straight as he was able to manage whilst swaying.

“Did I do sss’mthing wrong?”

The words that fell slurred from Jason’s lips had a tinge of worry to them, and Howard shook his head quickly as he dragged Jason into his hotel room and deposited him roughly on the bed with a shrug.

“Just don’t want you doing something you’ll regret in the morning.”

Jason sat up, shaking his head in protest even as Howard pushed him gently down by the shoulders to lie down once again. “I won’t, p-promise – _promise_ I won’t-”

“Hush up and go to sleep, Jay.”

“But-”

“ _Hush up._ ”

The sheer tension in Howard’s voice came close to almost sobering Jason up again. He could think of only one reason why Howard would sound so wound up and unhappy with him, and that was that he had no interest in him, nor in men in general. He cringed inwardly, a knot tying itself tightly in his stomach, and he curled up in a ball as Howard left him and turned off the light, leaving him in the darkness with his guilty thoughts and passing out a short while thereafter.

*****

Fuck him.

No, wait. No, that wasn’t the best thought – that was precisely the sort of thing he _shouldn’t_ have been thinking about. Howard shook his head with a groan, running a hand through his hair. Of all the damn things that Jason could have done, he had to go and slur that he wanted to sleep with him. No. Fuck Jason and the way he had unknowingly made Howard’s heart stop. 

If Howard hadn’t had such a shock, he’d have stayed in his room with Jason that night. He’d have got up at the correct time even if Jason hadn’t and woken him. He’d have made sure that Jason was at least vaguely presentable, forcefed him some sort of halfway useful hangover cure, and had him standing upright in the hotel gym they’re using as a rehearsal room for Nigel’s arrival the next morning.

Instead, Howard crept in with Gary that night, telling him a lie about how Jason had a girl back with him. He got himself up, washed, dressed, wolfed back a breakfast, and went to the rehearsal without much thought for who else might or might not be there.

The look on Nigel’s face upon discovering that only four of his five pieces had turned up was not one that any of them ever wanted to see again. It’s a whole hour into rehearsal when the door swings open and a very flustered, hungover Jason rushes in.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Nige; I’m sorry – it won’t happen again!”

Nigel slowly raked a considering gaze over him, taking in the sleep-ruffled hair and the dark-rimmed eyes. “You’re right, it won’t.” He turned his back on Jason, strolling back across the rehearsal room toward the other four and calling back indifferently. “You’re sacked.”

*****

"Don't let him do this."

Gary cringed, shaking his head and starting to move away. “Doug, please, do not go dragging me into this!”

Howard couldn't bear it though. Chaos had broken out after Nigel had dismissed Jason, telling him to get gone out of their rehearsal space if he didn't have permission to be there. Jason had protested, _loudly_ , his words falling on deaf ears. Howard wasn't sure whether he'd ever get that look of sheer panic in Jason's eyes out of his head. Paul had taken him gently by the shoulders and led him out. Paul had looked as unhappy with Nigel as they all felt - if there was anyone in their close-knit little entourage that would always look on the five of them with nothing but protectiveness and affection, it was their bodyguards.

It was testament to the level of control that Nigel had over them all that not one of them said a word there and then, too stunned by what had just transpired to even move, let alone speak. Only after Nigel had casually breezed out of the room telling them all to take the rest of the day off did any form of control return to Howard's body and mind, and the only thing he could think of was to beg Gary, Nigel's favourite and the only one he would listen to, to somehow help.

The only problem was that he knew Gary would always be reluctant to cross Nigel in any way.

“Gaz, _please_.” Howard reached out and caught Gary by the arm, looking at him desperately. “Jay's our mate, and Nigel listens to you. You can _fix_ this.”

Gary’s expression was the picture of apprehension, uncertainty in his voice. “I know you want him back in, Doug, but I really think Nigel’s mind is made up this time-”

“You can’t know that if you don’t _try_!”

Something about the anguish in Howard’s eyes got to Gary, and he sighed. “…oh _fine_ , I’ll give it a go. But I’m not promising anything, ok? It’s not up to me, so if it doesn’t work, don’t… don't go holding it against me, alright?”

“I won’t, Gaz.” Howard’s smile was wobbly, fretful, but grateful nonetheless. At least they were trying. At least this way, Jason had some slim semblance of a chance.

He didn't see Jason for the rest of that awful day; not even once night fell and he found himself the only one bunking down in their hotel room. It worried him. Jason wasn't the type to disappear without a word, but considering the day he'd just had and the blow he'd been dealt, there was a real worry that he'd perhaps gone and done something stupid.

To Howard's relief, the next morning, rehearsal was quietly interrupted by the door opening and Nigel leading in a red-eyed, white-faced Jason without a word. Their manager stopped halfway between the rest of the group and the door, looking back at Jason with a stony face and jerking a thumb at the other four.

“Go on. And remember what we spoke about. I want no more repeats of yesterday.”

Jason gave a tiny little nod, slipping past Nigel quietly and returning to the other four, holding his head up but with his eyes cast downward toward the floor. As soon as the door closed behind Nigel, Howard went to Jason, slinging an arm around his shoulders and hugging him close. 

“Good to have you back, Jay.”

Jason remained subdued for the rest of the rehearsals. Howard kept a close eye on him, seeing that he was simply going through the motions of each step. Not like normal. Jason always seemed to feel music rather than listen to it. But not today. 

Howard knew that he owed Gary one for getting Jason back in the fold. After the rehearsal was done, Robbie and Mark went off together practically hand-in-hand, and Jason slipped away almost unnoticed. Howard, meanwhile, lingered, going to Gary’s side and helping him pack up his keyboard.

“Thanks, Gaz. I knew you’d get through to him.”

“Me?” Gary shook his head, shrugging. “When I tried talking to Nigel he wouldn’t hear any of it. Jay must’ve convinced him by himself, somehow.” He smiled. “I’m glad, though. Would’ve been weird without him. And, God forbid, somebody might’ve expected me to dance in his place, and we can’t go having that now, can we?”

Howard gave a small laugh at that, but the frown of confusion on his face wouldn’t leave him for a while after that. He couldn’t fathom how Jason might have convinced Nigel to return to him his place in the band, and if he was brutally honest, he wasn’t keen on dwelling on it. All he cared about was that Jason was back where he belonged, and that they could hopefully both completely forget about whatever had happened that night in the hotel, and move on…

*****

They do move on, but where they go to from there isn’t a place any of them particularly liked. The wheels of the Take That hype machine began to move too quickly for them to keep up. The bubble of their little pop world grew larger around them all, further removing the five working class boys of Manchester from reality. Exhaustion was not an option, even though some days Jason wanted to just fall into his bed at home and not wake up again for a year. Dissent was not an option either, the consequences of which hit home hard when eventually – inevitably – Robbie cracked, and they are forced to sack him. Discard, more like, as one sensibly does with a broken part.

Jason did the honours that day. It was a last ditch attempt to somehow get Nigel to view him with something more than bored contempt; as something other than a piece of fanciable meat to try and lure into bed. It didn’t work. Jason was well aware that Mark hated him for about a week after doing what he did, and the only way he ever returned to any kind of favour in Mark’s eyes was because Mark is physically incapable of holding a grudge for any length of time.

Things were never quite the same after that, though. A machine can keep on running if a certain part is removed, but never quite as well as it once did. With Robbie gone, the dynamics suddenly changed. They all loved Mark, but not one of them was Robbie and not one of them could fulfil that role for him. Despite their best efforts, Mark withdrew. Gary was no longer the solitary one, his friendship with Howard growing stronger, and in turn, Jason found himself being eyed as somewhat of a Judas.

Even Howard wasn’t certain whether he trusted Jason anymore or not.

No – things had changed irreparably, and they could no longer fool themselves or the world into believing that all was well. The first death knoll finally tolled in one of their last meetings before their first tour as a four-piece, where Nigel declared that things were no longer working, and either something had to be done, or they had to put a full stop at the end of what they had all achieved.

“We’ll take a vote.” Nigel leant forward against the table, raising an eyebrow slowly as he fixed each of them with a serious, calculating look in turn. “Who wants to call it a day?”

Inevitably, Gary’s hand rose first. Howard had expected it – he knew of Gary’s solo ambitions, and he was sure he would do very well in them. The band had only ever been a transitory phase for him, a stepping stone from one place to another, and even though he knew he could count Gary amongst the very best of his mates, he wasn’t stupid enough to not acknowledge that. Even if he’d not known before then, he’d have realised on seeing the slightly hopeful gleam in Gary’s eyes.

Equally as inevitably, Jason’s hand was in the air a split second afterwards.

“I’m tired.”

Howard had known that as well. Jason’s sleep pattern had gone a little haywire ever since his 24-hour sacking anyway, and since assuming the responsibility to sack Robbie, his ability to sleep at all had disappeared almost overnight. Howard knew Jason well enough to realise that a deal with their personal Bacardi-drinking devil to try and claw himself just a sliver of respect had been a regrettable and soul-crushing experience, manifesting itself in an acute, guilt-ridden insomnia that was leaving Jason half-nodding off in interviews and misjudging his timings in rehearsals more and more. He couldn’t hold it against Jason to want to call time on it all at long last.

“Me too.”

Mark’s hand rose as well, and Howard closed his eyes. There it was, just like that – the end of their road and their dream, cut off neatly and democratically by three votes to one. On his surface, he dredged up a steely resolve to show no strong emotions either way – neither towards relief, nor regret – but on the inside, nausea was creeping up his throat and his insides performing backflips. The only outward sign he gave of any fear of his suddenly unknown future was the way he clenched his jaw almost imperceptibly, and tightened his grip a little on the arms of the chair he was sitting in.

“…well, guess that settles it then.” Nigel shrugged, tugging a cigarette packet from his breast packet and flicking it open with his thumb, withdrawing a smoke from it with his lips. “This tour’ll be the last. We’ll market it like that as well – gets more hype going that way, after all, and we can probably charge a bit extra as well. They’ll be clawing over each other for a ticket, so they will.” He rose, turning his back on the four of them, leaving them in a reeling silence with their own thoughts. But not before he left them with one more of his own.

“Oh - a last word of advice...” Nigel turned back in the doorway, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He used it to point at the four of them, shaking his head sagely and smirking. “Never reform, boys. Remember; Abba never reformed.”

*****

The dying days of the band were hard for all of them. Howard became quiet – or rather, quieter than usual. Now and then, Jason would glance over at him during interviews and see a glazed, far-off look in his eyes tinged with a sadness that hurt to bear witness to. Perhaps Howard had simply had enough of keeping the cogs of the pop machine grinding when they all knew it was coming to an end so soon.

He knew he had. He’d had enough of Nigel and his unpredictable swings between disdain and unwanted, desperate flirtations; of Gary and his superiority complex; of Robbie and his catty comments in the press. He’d had enough at last of screaming girls and having no privacy, of having no free time and having literally months go by between stints of seeing his family.

The four of them parted ways in an airport. They touched down on return from their final show, their swan song, said their goodbyes there and then on the tarmac, and turned their backs on each other for the last time. For his part, Jason returned to his brother Simon’s house, where he’d lived with him before the madness that had been the last five years of his life had kicked off. He wasn’t certain where the others had went, and if he was truly honest, he wasn’t all that bothered.

He managed to stay there for two days.

The thought that changed things came to him on a bright, sunny Manchester afternoon. He was in the spare room, where he’d been assured he could settle whilst he was scouting the city for a suitable place of his own to move out to, and had seen the sky from the window. He smiled, wistful – it was rare to get such glorious weather up here, or at least, it felt like that sometimes.

He pushed the creaky window open, a cool breeze blowing into the room that smelled of sweet grass and sunshine, and he closed his eyes for a moment to enjoy it.

“What you daydreaming about, Jay?” Simon was passing the open bedroom door, a curious smile on his own face.

“Just thinking how it would be nice to go out and enjoy the weather today.”

A beat, before Simon was staring at him with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment.

“…so why _don’t_ you?”

For Simon, it was simply a wry but obvious comment to his younger brother – go on off outside, what’s stopping you? For Jason, it was a stunning revelation – a true and proper genuine lightbulb moment that made his eyes light up in sudden understanding.

Go out. 

Who’s _stopping_ me?

For the last five years, life had been a rigid schedule, trudging from rehearsals to tours to recordings to video shoots to interviews and back around again. Nights out needed Nigel’s permission; holidays required three month’s notice. Yet _now_ , for the first time in half a decade, Jason suddenly found his diary completely clear, leaving him without a responsibility to anybody save himself. And what he found himself craving was the return of spontaneity and freedom to his otherwise rather dull and predictable existence.

He jumped up and threw open the wardrobe he had filled with his clothing only two days before, running on some form of autopilot. Before he knew it, he had a small suitcase with a few bits of clothing, necessities, and an armful of books shoved into it in his hand. It banged a couple of times on the stairs as he carried it down with him, and he grabbed his Adidas jacket from the banister as he reached the foot of the stairs, shrugging it on.

A confused-looking Simon ambled into the open doorway of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a tea towel. “Where are you going?”

“Away for a bit.”

“But you’ve only just got back! I’m in the middle of making dinner, Jay-”

“Si.” Jason span on his heel and fixed Simon with a serious look that made him stop talking almost instantly, his eyes almost pleading. “Just… let me do this, yeah? I need to go clear my head a bit.”

Simon sighed, shaking his head in defeat. He knew how stubborn Jason could be once he’d set his mind to something. “Can you at _least_ wait until you’ve eaten?”

“…nope.” Jason gave his older brother a grin as he zipped up his hoodie determinedly, slpping past him with his bag towards the front door. “Look at it this way – more for you, eh?” He left Simon guppying in the doorway, not bothering to wait for a response and heading out to his Mercedes on the drive. As he walked, he couldn’t help the grin inching bit by bit across his face. Every breath he took felt deeper and fresher than before. Every step felt as though it took another little bit of the weight from his shoulders until there was nothing left at all but a giddy, hopeful lightness. For the first time in a long time, he actually felt like he had some control over his own life. And, for the first time in an even longer time, he felt as though he actually had a life of his own at all.

*****

One man’s meat is another man’s poison. And if he’d known about Jason’s elation at his newfound freedom, Howard would have surely only compared the sudden lack of anything to fill his days with as his own personal poison.

He began to suspect that he wasn’t coping as well as he’d hoped when he spent an entire day in bed just staring at his ceiling, because he had fuck all else to do now so what was the point in even getting up? 

It was almost like the death of a loved one, leaving him with such an acute grief and sense of loss that he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself anymore. He managed to recognise it as the poison in the end, and the only thing he could think of as an antidote for it was to somehow talk about how the breakup of Take That had left him feeling.

Jason had always encouraged him to talk about his feelings. Originally he’d been dead against the mere thought of doing so, because it just wasn’t done. The more he’d grown to know Jason though, the less strange or embarrassing it had felt, until it had eventually come naturally to him and they’d spend long nights simply sitting awake on the same bed and talking.

He could get in touch with Jason now, if he wanted to. Jason would listen. For someone who always claimed to never quite get people, Jason was an excellent listener, and Howard always tended to believe that Jason deliberately kept himself from getting too close to all but the exceptional few, not because he couldn’t, but because it would limit the number of people who could then hurt him.

Yes, Jason had taken on the responsibility of sacking Rob himself. But Nigel had left it to the four of them to do, as obsessed with sowing the seeds of disparity and isolation as he was between them all, and there was no way Mark would have done it. Gary didn’t want yet another reason for Rob to mouth off about him, and he himself… well, he was a coward. Jason might have wanted Nigel’s unachievable approval, but he’d also been handed the short straw. And he _was_ trustworthy, for the most part, and a good source of advice.

He started to think that perhaps he wasn’t entirely fair on Jason at the end of it all.

They’d also not really said goodbye properly on parting, as awkward and public and exposed a farewell in the middle of an airport terminal felt. If he spoke to him now, then perhaps that day wouldn’t have to be a goodbye, but merely a temporary blip in their relationship.

It took him all of the courage he could muster to finally pick up the phone and dial the number of the one person who might have known exactly where Jason was living at the moment; Jason’s mum.

“Hello?”

Howard cleared his throat nervously. “Hello Mrs. Orange, it’s Howard.” He felt like a right prat, noting that his feelings were bordering on teenage-boy-phoning-first-girlfriend’s-house levels of embarrassment.

“Oh, Howard!” Her sunny tone betrayed the fact that Jason most probably hadn’t mentioned a thing to her about the tensions left between them. “How are you?”

“Fine, I’m fine, thanks…” Howard found himself pacing the room slightly, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Um… is Jay about at all?”

“Jason? No, love, he’s gone off somewhere; packed his bags almost as soon as he’d gotten home and went out the door again. The Lake District, I think Simon said, but you know what our Jason’s like – he’ll probably go from there on to wherever takes his fancy next.”

Howard sighed heavily. “So you don’t know when he’ll be back, then?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, duck. I guess we’ll find out whenever a postcard finally comes through the door.”

Well, that was just brilliant. Never mind that Howard needed him _now_. His second thoughts about the band’s breaking up were weighing on his mind, and only someone who had shared the experience of what it had meant to be in Take That could understand what he was trying to say. Robbie was off the list these days, sadly, but he wasn’t sure he’d trust Robbie with giving any kind of good advice anyway. He could have phoned Gary for a stream of relentless optimism that would make him question whether Gary had actually listened properly or not, or Mark for sweet-natured but ultimately unhelpful sympathy, but what he wanted was that odd brand of advice that only Jason could give him – to tell him bluntly, brutally if necessary, what he actually _needed_ to hear, whether it was nice of him to say or not.

But Jason had gone – gone and pissed off somewhere right when Howard needed him the most. That wasn’t right, surely? Jason had a habit of knowing when he was needed. He might be a flighty dreamer but he seemed to be instinctively drawn to people when they had a problem to air. Especially if that person was Howard.

Perhaps not saying goodbye had damaged things between them more than he’d accounted for?

Without someone to air his worries to, Howard’s fretting began to take over more and more. Frets turned to anxieties, which turned into dark thoughts, which eventually amassed themselves into a big black dog that followed Howard day and night, sitting on his chest when he was trying to sleep and stopping him from breathing. This was how he eventually found himself stood on the bridge over the Thames with his hat tugged low, staring at the water. 

There he was – 28 years old and with everything he knew in tatters. He was unsure of himself or his abilities, couldn’t cope with the sudden loss of routine and purpose and the loss of being close to a certain person he’d come to care so deeply about that it frightened him. He wasn’t sure now what scared him more – the feelings he’d spent six years now denying, or the feelings of hopelessness that were new and unwelcome and haunting.

It’s what he would refer to in later years as his cowardice that saved his life that day. The thought of being found stuck in the cold dark mud of the Thames one day and having to be hauled out stayed stuck firmly in his mind with no way of getting it out, and that fear was what prevented him from finding the strength to climb over the bridge’s rail. But he never forgets that, for that one, terrifying day, things got so dark that he almost couldn’t see light anymore. From that day on, he vows to never let things become so dark again.

The postcard finally arrived three weeks after Howard had nearly succumbed to his thoughts. If the brightly oversaturated photograph of a beach with ‘Thailand’ printed in the corner in fuchsia hadn’t given away the card’s origin, the large round stamp on the back would have instead.

_Dougie,_

_Hope you’re keeping well. Have been travelling about - having a great time and meeting lots of interesting people. Also been impressing some girls with my guitar! You’d be proud. Currently in Bangkok, though that’s not actually the real name of the city. The locals call it Krung Thep and that itself is actually shortened from something far longer. It’s all pretty fascinating – I’ll tell you more about it when I see you next, bore the pants off you as usual. Not sure when I’ll be home, to be honest – got plans for Malaysia and Hong Kong next. But I’ll try and do better at keeping in touch, promise._

_Wish you were here._

_Jay  
x_

Howard shook his head in disbelief. “Hardly the fucking Lake District, Jason!”

In some strange way, he was truly furious. He was angry at Jason for gallivanting off and abandoning him in an hour of desperate need; angry at him and Gary and Mark for calling time on the band; angry at Robbie for pissing his life away and leaving them in the lurch; angry at Nigel for driving Robbie to the point he’d reached, and, most of all, he was angry at himself for letting so many other people in his life exert such an influence that he was driven to desperation when he inevitably lost them.

He’s so angry that any plans he’d had of reconnecting with Jason are quickly discarded and rallied against, and for the next three years, Jason can never quite figure out why Howard becomes so difficult to get a hold of.

*****

It was television that brought them back together, strangely enough. Howard unthinkingly flicked GMTV on one day for a bit of background noise as he prepared his breakfast. It was halfway through the bacon cooking under the grill that he heard _that voice_ echoing from his TV; softer now than it used to be, calmer and with a new lightness to it that took Howard a little by surprise. He turned, watching in disbelief. There he was; Jason, the boy he once knew so very well. A man now, and properly so, a mere year off thirty.

And still as confusingly attractive as always.

Howard missed half the interview thanks to the bacon burning and smoking without his careful watch, his flustered attempts to save his breakfast and get the smoke alarm to stop screeching at him obscured most of Jason's interview. One part that he did manage to hear made him stop in his tracks, however.

“I always thought Howard was a bit of a genius.”

Well, flattery will get you everywhere, Jason. Howard frowned, sinking onto his sofa slowly, his breakfast remaining untouched in his hand as he watched in curiosity. He couldn't figure out why Jason was there on the GMTV sofa. He seemed to have revelled in the general obscurity that the end of Take That had afforded him and Howard recognised discomfort in the way Jason was sitting and taking his time answering their questions. He remembered the way he and Jason would band together during interviews - mostly for Howard's benefit as interviews were his least favourite thing in the world. Jason had benefited from them as well, however, because if ever too personal a question was flung their way, it was all Jason could do to flounder for a moment before answering too honestly out of worry for taking too long in thinking his answer over, and instantly regretting it. Howard, however, could deflect a question like that with stupid humour, making the people laugh and move on, and Jason would always thank him quietly afterwards.

Now he was up there all alone, and looking a little like a rabbit caught in headlights despite his smiles. Howard felt sorry for him, even as the interviewer asked him if he saw much of Howard these days.

“I haven't heard from him in a little while, actually. So, y’know… if you’re out there, Doug, if you’re listening, get in touch, eh? Get out here.”

It was like something out of a stupid rom-com - one person reaching out to the other through a very public medium. He knew Jason would be embarrassed to know that - hell, he's embarrassed to know it. But fuck him sideways if he couldn't admit that it had only gone and worked.

Jason hadn't expected it to. But he was glad it had. That initial telephone call had been slightly awkward to begin with, full of um's and so's and how's the family's, but before either of them knew it, it was as though three years had never passed them by and they were talking as though they'd only seen each other the day before.

"Come over, yeah Doug? We'll get something in to eat and have a drink and catch up, yeah?" Howard could hear the bright grin in Jason's voice and there was no way he could say no in the face of such hopefulness. Which was how, a week later, he found himself in London of all places, in a relatively small but immaculately kept minimalist flat near Camden with Thai takeaway and beer and embarrassing themselves in their hopeless attempts to use the freebie chopsticks that had arrived with their dinner, and although they'd both grown and changed as people, not much had changed between them.

"I never took you for a London boy, Jay. What happened there?"

Jason smiled, drawing his knees up to sit cross-legged on the sofa and juggling the soy sauce and the chopsticks in his hand with practiced efficiency. "I know, bit unexpected, isn't it? I like it here though. It's big and they do that London Walk thing, don't they? Like, they never make eye contact with anybody, not if they can help it. Found it a bit cold when I first arrived here, but actually it's great. Barely anybody knows who I am down here. They never look at my face long enough to figure it out."

Howard wrinkled his nose. "Don't sound right to me, mate. Southerners; they're a harsh lot. It'd have to take something special to get me to move down here." He shovelled another helping of spicy noodles into his mouth. "How's life been treating you then, 'part from getting your mug on the tellybox?"

Jason shrugged. "Alright I guess. I've been travelling, although you know that already, don't you? The acting is ok but to be honest I'm thinking of giving it up."

"Oh yeah?" Howard looked at him curiously. "Why's that, then?"

"Can't stand the auditions, mate. you know what it's like… you're standing there, you're exposed and they're sat there judging you…"

"Nowt much different from the band audition though. You got through that ok."

He missed the barely perceptible clench of Jason’s jaw as he shook his head. "It is different. They're _worlds_ apart." The real issue at hand was that Jason couldn't manage to reconcile himself with the idea of once again making a living pretending to be somebody that he wasn't. But that was getting a little too into the territory of deep and meaningful for him to be quite comfortable with bringing up to Howard on their first proper meeting in years.

"What would you do instead?"

Jason went thoughtfully quiet, and Howard knew he'd accidentally touched a nerve there. It came back to him that Jason had only ever considered himself good at one thing and one thing only - dancing - and considering that nobody was willing to employ any of them in the capacities of their old jobs these days save Robbie, it was unlikely Jason would see anything in that vein for a while. Howard could see the insecurity that had festered inside of Jason since they'd last met, and realisation dawned that he probably didn't feel confident enough to pursue another path anytime soon.

"I'll think of something." Jason shrugged again, poking at his box of rice noodles with his chopsticks, avoiding meeting Howard's eyes. "…a-anyway, enough with my life. How are things with you?"

“Actually, I… I _have_ got quite a big bit of news, Jay. It’s to do with Vicky.”

“Oh?” Jason glanced up casually. Vicky - Howard's girlfriend, as he'd been informed since Howard's arrival here. She sounded like she was nice enough and if she made Howard happy, then he was happy. He would, admittedly, be happier if it were him who could fulfil that role for Howard instead, but that would never be, and he'd spent the last three years coming to terms with that.

Howard smiled anxiously, still unsure himself about how he really felt about the situation he’d found himself in recently, nerves churning with cautious excitement in his stomach most of the time these days. He fancied Vicky a lot, having put all his old and confusing thoughts about Jason to bed the day he'd received his friend's postcard from Thailand, but he'd not expected to be caught in the situation he was now in with her so early on. 

“…she’s pregnant, mate. I’m gonna be a dad.”

Time seemed to stop, and Jason’s ears filled with a kind of white noise that his suddenly loudly pounding heart provided a rhythm to, wide eyes fixed on Howard in shock. Three years' worth of reconciliation with his inner self flew out of the window in an instant, and it took him a long moment to realise he was holding his breath.

Howard frowned, confused by Jason’s seemingly shell-shocked reaction. “…Jay?” He gave an awkward smile, shrugging helplessly. “Come on, mate; talk to me or chew me out for being an idiot or _something_ , God.”

Jason finally found the willpower to blink, and the movement seemed to shove time back into existence again, the ability to breathe returning once more. He shook his head just slightly, emerging slowly from his daze, and he gave a small, awkward smile. “… _wow_. Um…” He shrugged equally as helplessly. “…congratulations, I suppose?”

Howard raised an eyebrow at him. “…that it? No pearls of wisdom? That’s not like you.”

Jason shook his head, still clutching his mug of tea. “Well it’s not like I had any time to prepare a pep talk for you, How.” He sighed, putting his mug down. “Not planned, I suppose?”

Howard shook his head, smiling sheepishly. “You don’t look surprised.”

“No – not when you’re involved.” It was Jason’s turn to shake his head now, his eyes full of concern. “So… what’s your plan, then?”

Howard shrugged nonchalantly. “I look after her and look after the baby when it’s born and… that’s it really, eh?”

Jason raised an eyebrow at him, still looking unconvinced but vaguely impressed with Howard’s attitude toward the whole situation. “…aren’t you scared?”

Howard gave him a wry smile that betrayed his nerves. “Fuckin’ _terrified_ , mate.”

*****

Jason couldn’t justify the sense of rejection he felt after hearing Howard’s news. He honestly couldn’t. It wasn’t as though Howard had owed him anything - they'd not seen one another for three years and they'd never been anything more meaningful than friends to one another at any point. Howard had never given Jason any reason to believe that he might stand any sort of chance with him in that respect.

The years ticked on by, slowly but determinedly. Jason gave up on acting, just as he said he would. He never did find that something to fill his days with, but that didn't really matter to him at this point. He occasionally dabbled in writing but never plucked up the courage to send it to anybody who might be able to publish it. He worked hard and earned the money that now keeps him - the reward that his mother had promised him when he was thirteen - but he felt that, having achieved what he'd wanted to so early on in his life, there wasn't anything left for him to aim for. So he divided his time between travelling, London, and Manchester, and remained eternally grateful that he was lucky enough to be able to choose the lifestyle that he had without worry for his finances.

He could honestly say that the only thing that took him by surprise in what they eventually dub their 'wilderness years' was getting back in touch with Gary. Mark had never really pulled much away, not deliberately anyway. He was easy to reconcile with. Gary was a different matter entirely. That particular fall from grace had been intensely painful to bear witness to, but in a way it had done Gary good, once the dust had settled from the crater his crash back down to Earth had thrown up. Humility was something he wore well and fatherhood had tempered his once ruthless ambitions.

Meanwhile, Howard took to fatherhood like a duck to water as well, just as Jason had expected, but the knowledge that Howard was more unattainable than ever had left a gaping void inside Jason’s soul. It was a hole he’d taken to trying to fill up by any means, finding himself dating whomever would accept an invitation from him.

“Maybe you’d like to meet up again sometime?”

“Oh?” The young woman he’d just spent the evening looked startled, before smiling with embarrassment. “Look… I’ll come clean with you – I’ve got a boyfriend already. I just wanted to see if being famous had... well, y’know. But you’re not! You’re just… _normal_.”

Fucked him up in the head was the less than polite question she was asking, but Jason understood that. What got to him was the fact that she seemed disappointed. He withdrew his hand quickly, jamming it into his pocket.

At least she had the good grace to look a little ashamed. “…listen, you’re a really, really nice guy and I _really_ enjoyed tonight; I just-”

“It’s fine.” Jason gave her a thin, cold little smile that wobbled just slightly with tension. “I’m glad you had fun.” 

It was another date in an increasingly long string of the things. Most were unsuccessful; some showed promise, but they were promises that had been frustratingly short-lived.

And then one day, Jason introduced a charming redheaded man to Howard. His name was Benjamin. And Jason had smiled and called him his boyfriend.

The relationship lasted six months - a record for Jason - but the revelation that Jason was that way inclined came as a surprise to all of about two people in the world. Not even Howard had been that oblivious, but this was the first time he’d had the fact _confirmed_.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Shortly after Jason became a single man again, Howard broke up with Vicky.

And of course, those two facts were in no way related.

*****

Time was a healer, or so Jason had been told, and that old adage proved itself to be increasingly true as he began to reconnect with the dots in his past to see the bigger picture that he’d lost sight of for so long. His relationships with Mark and Gary as people outside of the old Take That bubble grew and blossomed slowly into things that he’d never considered they could be before.

It was only thanks to the fact that they’d all gone and took it upon themselves to try and get to know one another in a situation where they were no longer another man’s toys to play with that the idea of a reunion became something not to be laughed at and ignored, but a viable option worthy of proper consideration. It was Mark who initially suggested it, of course; Mark and all his barmy ideas. It was refreshing and delightful to see just how wrong he’d been about the younger man on that first day he’d met him, particularly his assumption that Mark had been nice and bland. A quick flick through one of Mark’s sketchbooks was enough to prove to any of them that Nigel had kept a rough, raw and not inconsiderable gem of a talent a secret to be hidden away for years.

The same could be said for all of them, in a way.

Jason’s sole regret when he eventually came to look back on the discussions of a potential reunion was that he only arrived after the rest of them had got thoroughly drunk, and so, to them, there was no question of the idea of them reforming as a foursome being anything more than the greatest thing since the invention of the wheel.

“Jay!” Mark grinned brightly at him, reaching across the table and taking his hands. “Jay, Jay – it’ll be fun…!”

Jason looked at him incredulously, shaking his head slowly and dragging his hands away again. “It’s been ten _years_.”

Gary shrugged, gulping back the remains of his glass of wine with a satisfied smile. “Perfect time for a reunion! Come on Land, it’s only one little tour and then we all sink back into the quiet life again.” He grabbed the bottle, having to aim a few times before managing to get the lip of the bottle against the rim of the glass, notwithstanding a few dribbles of vino tinto on the previously white tablecloth. He pushed the glass toward Jason. “Come on, come on and have a glassss, Jay…”

“I think at least _one_ of us ought to be sober for this, don’t you?!” Jason sighed, leaning forward and clasping his hands together in front of his mouth. “…you two are dead serious on this, aren’t you?”

Gary and Mark nodded almost in sync, hugging each other.

Jason chuckled, rolling his eyes. He turned his gaze over to Howard, cocking one eyebrow. “You’ve been quiet, mind.”

Howard smiled and shrugged, taking another swig of his beer. “I’m up for it, me.”

Jason knew instantly that Howard was probably the one the most keen for a reunion to happen, and cursed that little bit inside of himself that always wanted to make Howard happy.

“…one tour. That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Jason groaned, shaking his head. “…I _guess_ I could manage one tour...”

But it was under one condition. Nigel Martin-Smith was not to be involved in any way, shape or form, and Jason made that stipulation very, _very_ clear one day when he arranged to meet Nigel himself.

“Jason, _so_ good to see you again.” Nigel gave him a thin, cold smile, a lack of light in his eyes that set Jason on edge almost immediately. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jason inhaled a sharp, steadying breath, steeling his resolve. “…I’m here to tell you that… that _you’re_ sacked. And before you ask, no; a backlot blowjob will not, and never will, get you your job back.”

It was a risk. It was a massive, _massive_ risk, because as Nigel informed him with something close to murder in his eyes, that was more of a band decision. And yes, he was right – maybe that was indeed more of a band decision, and Jason knew there and then that if Gary and Mark and Howard wanted Nigel, he would be gone without another word to any of them. And not necessarily of his own free will.

He was almost expecting that to be the case when he called Gary up in a panic after the adrenaline had worn off, leaving him stressed and shaking in the driver’s seat of his car. He was eternally grateful when Gary took his side for the first time over Nigel, and it eventually turned out not to be.

*****

Their biggest fear had been that, without Nigel, they were nothing. How amazing it had been for them, then, when their fears were proven to be completely and utterly ungrounded. The tickets had sold out in an hour, the tour a smash-hit success beyond what they’d ever hoped for, and the offer to let them record a new album had been leapt upon with passion by Gary and Mark. Howard had happily gone along for that ride. Jason had more rather ambled behind at his own pace to catch up whenever he was ready. He’d never enjoyed the album production process because he’d never had anything to do during them in the past.

Not this time, though. Gary was determined to share the duties out between them – another side effect of whatever Jekyll-esque transformation ten years out of the limelight had left imprinted on him. “I mean, Markie, your writing’s coming along at one hell of a pace, you’ve got some great stuff here – How, you’ve always been great with the harmonies, and Jay-…”

Jason had expected some meagre task assigned to him; tea-making most likely, just like Dennis had always sent him off for back in his YTS days. What Gary _actually_ said was the last thing he’d anticipated.

“Lyrics. You’ve got a good brain on you, mate – grab that laptop over there and get tappin’, eh?”

Howard was delighted that the four of them were all involved this time around. Yes, he’d always been at that slight advantage in comparison to the others because Gary had recognised his talent for harmony arrangements early on in the 90s. Theirs had been a quiet little partnership that had produced some amazing work, in Howard’s eyes at least. He was glad that Mark was getting a chance now as well, but he was selfishly even more pleased for Jason. He’d always known that Jason had talent. Jason just needed to learn it himself.

It was a mutual agreement on that between himself, Mark, and Gary, that led to them concocting a little something behind Jason’s back for him with the aim of being a bit of a boost.

Jason arrived at the studio to find his three friends and bandmates sitting in a row on the sofa with the most fixed of cheerful, innocent smiles on their faces. He stopped in his tracks, frowning deeply, and eyed them all with faintly amused distrust. 

“…if you three don’t think you look the most suspicious you ever have in your _lives_ right now, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you.”

Gary rose from his seat as Mark and Howard watched with eager eyes. “Actually, Jay, we’ve got a surprise for you.” He grinned and pushed a single sheet of paper into Jason’s hand.

Jason frowned deeply, his expression flat and wry. “I’ve always wanted my own piece of paper – thank you, Gary; thank you so much…”

“They’re lyrics, Jay. It’s a song; s’called Wooden Boat, and it’s _yours_.”

Mark grinned brightly. “What do you think?” His smile faded away though as he realised that Jason was staring at them all in horror. 

“…I’m not doing a solo!”

“Why not?” Gary frowned, genuinely confused. As far as he was aware, a solo had been all Jason had wanted back in the day. “You’re a good singer, Jay, and this one’ll suit your voice right down to the ground, it will – it’s got a right folky vibe to it and-”

“ _No._ ” Jason shook his head resolutely, waving his hand dismissively. “You know the rules, Gaz – you don’t dance and I don’t sing.”

Gary folded his arms, pouting. “Hey up a minute; my dancing’s got better, so it has-”

“That’s beside the point.” Jason withdrew a little, his expression betraying his discomfort with the idea of being lumbered with a lead vocal. “I _can’t_ sing. Alright? Nigel had his… his _reasons_ for keeping me around and, _believe me_ , not one of them was for my singing voice.”

A scoffing little noise of disbelief piped up, and the three of them turned to see Mark with the most incredulous look upon his face.

“Wait, so… you’re telling me that after going and giving Nigel an ultimatum, by yourself, at the risk of getting sacked for it; after we’ve gone and done that massive tour and realised we’re still wanted, even as a four; after we’ve all proved we can do this without him, you’re still going to be a coward over something someone whose opinion you don’t even respect told you over a decade ago?” He shook his head, turning away. “Thought you could do better than that, Jay.”

Gary’s eyes widened. The last thing he wanted was friction between them, after he’d worked so hard to make his apologies and smooth over the fissures that time had put between them. Mark goading Jason was _not_ conducive to a happy camp. “ _Mark_ -”

“You’re calling me a coward?”

Mark couldn’t help but smile to himself, and he spun on his heel, clasping his hands together behind his back. He nodded at Jason. “How will you know you can’t do it if you never try?”

Jason glowered unhappily, and Gary closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable argument. But it never came. He felt the sheet of lyrics snatched out of his hand, and opened his eyes to see Jason pacing, reading through it. The further he got through the words, the slower his pace became, until he was finally stranding still and just absorbing the rhythm and rhyme of the lyrics.

“…fine. I’ll do a take, but if it’s shit, it’s getting scrapped and one of you can do it and we will never let that recording of me see the light of day again, alright?”

Gary caught Mark smiling smugly to himself, realised that Howard was smiling despite himself as well, and realised what they’d done. It made sense, in fact. Somebody as stubborn and insecure as Jason was always going to need a bit more of a push than others to do something they didn’t believe they could do. Besides, it was a well-known truth amongst the four of them that, whatever they needed Jason to agree to, they could usually twist his arm into doing what they needed him to in the end.

They were more than glad that they did. The singing lessons Jason had been quietly attending since the planning stages of their comeback tour had paid off in dividends, giving strength to his quiet voice and levelling out most, if not all pitchiness he may have been worried about. A month later, the master track came back to them polished and perfect and pure. Jason listened, hardly believing that it was him on the playback, and his pride wasn't such that he couldn't admit to getting a little emotional the first time he heard it.

Howard was proud of him as well. He knew how much getting a song had really meant to Jason, more so than he was ever likely to admit to either Gary or Mark. It was a validation of purpose, in a way - a reminder that he still had something left to give.

“It ought to go last on the album, mind.”

Three pairs of confused eyes turned toward Howard. Gary leant back in his chair, curiosity winning out. “Why’s that, Doug?”

“Well… for a start, this track is a bit different from the others. And it’s a bit of an event in its own right, isn’t it? I mean, there’s people been waiting fifteen years to hear you sing a lead, Jay…”

Jason’s cheeks turned red, as he shrugged a little and began to ramble about something to do with bitter disappointments, demands for refunds, and record numbers of people about to require surgery to restore their hearing. Howard decided that not was obviously not the best time for any kind of sentimentality, and made sure to keep the last part of his encouraging words – the ‘myself included’ part – unequivocally to himself.

*****

Beautiful World was beloved, an outcome they’d never expected, and Wooden Boat ended up taking up a special place nestled in comfortably at the bottom of Jason’s heart, sitting comfortably somewhere between winning his first dance trophy and the first time he’d seen Howard dance. The success of The Circus after that had staggered them all just as much, but what _truly_ blindsided them the most of everything they achieved and created and learned together, was the day they finally found the missing piece of their little musical jigsaw – the one they’d lost so long ago and had resigned themselves to never finding again.

Robbie’s return had brought equal parts excitement and trepidation to them all, but the trepidation was, for the most part, unnecessary, with the exception of Rob’s minor meltdown of nerves halfway through their writing process. Progress is like nothing they’ve ever written before. Hell, Gary was half terrified they’d never write anything like that again.

It broke Jason’s heart, however to have to admit to himself – and not to any of the others, it would hurt them – that he was not enjoying this round of promo as much as he did the last. It was nothing to do with Rob – nothing to do with the band, even. It was the inside of his own head, out on the attack at the one point where he needed it to cooperate the most. Dark thoughts were dark thoughts, though, and his dark thoughts were almost always uncontrollable.

The older he got, the harder they became, and he didn’t want to worry any of the others by confessing that he was in any way struggling.

Nigel used to pin it all on trust issues and had offered to help him work through it, but any issues he had with trust these days (and he will admit to having many) were down to that bastard alone. There was the psychoanalyst he’d met out in Thailand years back, who’d breezily informed him over green curry and two glasses of cha-yen that his dad’s walking out on the family had seriously damaged his ability to form significant attachments, as though this had somehow come as news to him. Gary, for his part, laughed and told him with a fond smile that he was a commitment-phobe who would get over it once he got that urge to finally settle down and stay in one place for any length of time. His mum was a bit kinder and told him he’d just not met the right person yet.

The problem was that he’d met exactly the right person. It was just that this person was untouchable, and not just because he was always too busy trying and failing at relationships with a long and varied string of women. He was a bandmate, which would only complicate things; he had never shown the slightest interest in any man, ever, which was somewhat of an issue all things considered; and first and foremost, he was a best mate. And to be honest, Jason preferred to keep it that way. At least if he kept his feelings quiet, Howard would still allow him to be close. He couldn’t bear to contemplate the rejection that would inevitably ensue should Howard ever discover the truth.

Still; now and again the itch of loneliness would demand to scratched, the rational, unromantic part of his brain berating him internally to just get over himself already and find somebody new. A new pang had joined – since he’d passed thirty-five – the usual chorus of inner thoughts that liked to make sure his self-esteem never grew too high; one that was quieter than the others but persistent and constant – a little voice telling him that he was getting on a bit now, that he really ought to be settling down perhaps; that if he didn’t, that itch he could never quite reach to scratch would only grow worse and worse; ‘Jesus Christ, are you really that determined to die alone?’

So he’d go out and strike up a conversation with an attractive person and offer to buy them a drink, or relent and allow Justin to introduce him to yet another of his wife’s friends, or respond when someone came onto him. He’d date for a while, enjoy the pleasant company and the warmth and touch of someone else’s body, and begin to fool himself into believing that perhaps he could hold feelings for this new person that might also feel as strong and unwavering after twenty-five years as the feelings he’d held before for someone else.

It never lasted, though. Predictably, like a book he’d read time and time again, Jason would turn the page of whatever relationship he was conducting at the time and realise that the plot was going to turn out the same way – a conversation full of I’m Sorry’s. ‘I’m sorry, it’s not you, it’s me’ or ‘I’m sorry, I just don’t think this is quite working out’, amongst others.

‘I’m sorry, but you’re just not Howard,’ was the one he never spoke aloud.

*****

Progress met their expectations, exceeded them, and then rocketed off into a stratosphere so high that even the ever-unflappable Gary had found it a little dizzying. As a fivesome, they went and took the world by storm once again, and riding on such a high – and this time as _friends_ \- had been an experience that was an actual heartache to come down from.

The one thing that really concerned them all was how quiet Jason had turned during their promotional period, even going so far as to decline his usual two lines in Never Forget. Howard, Gary, and Mark knew Jason well enough these days to know that when he was in this sort of mood, he was best left to his own devices. Jason was the sort who was excellent at giving advice but terrible at taking it himself; the sort who would be fine for a good length of time, and then without warning withdraw and hide away from the world until the worst of the storm battering around the inside of his head was over.

Robbie wasn’t so convinced.

“He just gets like this sometimes, Rob,” reassured Gary. “Honestly, mate; you’re better off just letting him come out of it in his own time.”

If Robbie was entirely honest, he was worried that he might somehow be the root of this latest bout of insecurity in Jason – thathis return had upset the balance between the other four and that he was thusly responsible for Jason’s feelings.

Mark had rushed to reiterate that, no, this was nothing to do with Rob – that Jason just had moments now and then, moments that people couldn’t budge him out of even if they tried. But he did confess that these moments seemed to be occurring more frequently of late, and that was enough alone to spur Robbie into dropping round to Jason’s flat one grey and early morning. 

Rule of thumb dictated that Jason, not being much of a sleeper even at the best of times, ought to be awake. When there was no answer, Robbie banged on the door hard, increasingly alarmed.

He needn't have worried. The door swung open a moment later to reveal a bleary-eyed and forlorn Jason. The instant memories of that day back in the 90s when Jason had nearly no longer been a part of Take That came flooding back to Robbie as it dawned on him that Jason was very, _very_ hungover.

Robbie’s main concern was that Jason’s tolerance to alcohol hadn’t improved since the 90s. He was inclined to say that it had in fact probably become a lot worse. Jason wasn’t much of a drinker – not really – and at the best of times, it only took one or two glasses of wine to get him tipsy. The fact that there was an empty bottle of Jack Daniels and an empty bottle of coke on the kitchen sideboard, as well as plenty of beer bottles, concerned him greatly. Maybe Jason had had somebody over last night to share the booze with, or maybe the beer bottles had collected slowly over a short period of time, but the fact that Jason was obviously suffering through a raging hangover, plus the fact that Robbie simply _knew_ what a man drowning his sorrows looked like, didn’t inspire much confidence in those optimistic thoughts.

“For fuck’s sake, Jay, this isn’t you. This is my territory; this is Markie’s territory; hell, maybe this is Gaz or Dougie on a _really_ bad day way back when, but not you. You’re supposed to be the fucking sensible one.”

Jason glared at him with red eyes, holding his head. “What – so because I’m apparently some sort of moral compass I can’t have a drink? Fuck off, Rob.”

Robbie smiled very slowly, his eyes glittering with a hint of danger. “… _do not_ tell me to fuck off, Jason.”

The guilt-ridden look that sprung up into Jason’s weary eyes was apology enough, and Robbie moved forward, hugging him almost impossibly tight. He pushed Jason down gently to sit on the sofa, sinking into the armchair opposite him.

“Right. Let’s start over again, shall we? D’you want a fag?”

“Go on then.”

“Shouldn’t be offering you, mind. You’re smoking a lot more these days – you never used to smoke outside of a party. I know being a social smoker doesn’t count as much, but still…”

“I know.”

“And you’re drinking more. You never used to drink either, I remember that; you were teetotal before you got back with the boys.”

“I know.”

“So why have you gone and started?”

Jason shrugged.

“…it’s alright to admit if you’re feeling depressed?”

“I know.”

Robbie glared despite himself, leaning in close and holding onto Jason’s shoulder. “Stop saying that. You sound like a fucking stuck record.”

Jason sighed softly, turning his head slowly towards the younger man. “I’m not _depressed_ , Rob.”

Robbie quirked an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Jay, do you think I was born fucking yesterday or somethin’? Remember who the fuck you’re talking to here; come on! You’re 42, single; you feel like you don’t contribute anything and then when you’re given any length of time off you retreat in here like a fucking hibernating shrew and don’t poke your head out again until you feel like you’ve got some sort of purpose in the world again. If I were you, I’d be depressed!”

Jason stared at him with disbelieving incredulousness. “…thank fuck you’re not a therapist.”

Robbie grinned. “I could always consider a career change. Jason, look - everybody knows you've fancied Howard from day one and everybody knows he fancies you back. You're just both such a pair of oblivious tits that you haven't noticed that about each other!"

Jason flinched sharply like he’d been burnt, wincing and shaking his head quickly. "Howard does not fancy me."

"Jason, he _does_ -"

" _Howard does not fancy me_."

Silence hung heavy between them for a while before a disappointed Robbie shook his head. "…why are you so determined not to believe the truth?"

“Because of what the truth might _do_ to us. Look, Rob…” Jason paused – a lengthy, tense, drawn-out pause – before sighing softly, shaking his head. “Sometimes, it’s better to… to just stay friends than to say something that’ll ruin it all and scare that person away. I’d rather have him in my life, the way we are, the way we’ve _always_ been, than to blurt something out and regret it forever when he can’t even look me in the eye afterwards.”

Robbie shook his head, leaning over and nudging Jason in the arm with his elbow in a vain attempt to get him to see some form of sense. “Jay. You’ve been pining after him for nearly _twenty-five years_ , for fuck’s sake.”

“…I know.”

Robbie bit back the urge to give Jason a good shake, settling for shaking his own head instead. “I think you need a break, don’t you?”

Jason sighed heavily, nodding as he rubbed his face with his hand and yawned. “I think you’re right.”

Robbie took a gulp from his coffee. “LA’s always open to you if you ever wanna go?”

Jason smiled softly. “Thanks, mate. But you’re busy at the moment, eh? And let’s face it – I think I need to go off and sort my head out a bit, don’t I?”

Rob smiled wryly, shaking his head. “Thailand?”

“Where else?” Jason looked around at the detritus of his night before in shame, and shook his head. “…I’m sorry, by the way. This lot, the bottles and stuff… you’re recovering, you are; you shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

Robbie snorted. “Mate, I’m not allowed to _drink_ the stuff, I’m not banned from being in the same _room_ as it. I can cope with other people having a drink around me. Why d’you think I call my Ayda Boozy, eh? Now, back to what’s important here – you helped me in the past, so let me return the favour and help you, eh? You? You are not like me. You’re strong, you are, and you know you are. You’ve hit a blip, alright, but fuck – we’ve all been there, haven’t we?" 

He took another cigarette from his packet, his eyes soft and thoughtful now. "Y'know… if you ask me, you should stay here and talk to him. I love you mate, but you've got a habit of pissing off halfway around the world whenever things get a bit too much for you to deal with. You're a brave bloke, so start acting like one. Face up to the shit. Be a man."

Robbie inwardly grins at the offended, stunned look that Jason immediately sends his way, accompanied by a sudden resolute fire alighting in his eyes; a determination to prove Robbie and his big mouth wrong. Robbie would have to thank Mark for his advice. To get Jason to do anything, it was always best to present it to him as a challenge.

*****

Their opportunity finally presented itself a week later. Like many of those major turns in both their lives, the night that changed things felt less planned and more like an alignment of the stars or a pre-destined turning of their fates.

"They're knocking down the Apollo."

Jason sounds so appalled and upset on the other end of the phone that it's hard for Howard's heart not to go out to him. He’s appalled himself. Knock down the Apollo, of all places? Did they not know what that place meant to people? 

To _them_?

Howard had been prepared to be a shoulder to cry on – or rather, whinge at – for Jason’s benefit. What he hadn’t been prepared for was for Jason to arrive at his flat at near enough midnight, his arms folded and an unhappy frown on his face.

“Grab your coat. We’re going to Manchester.”

“…and there was me hoping you’d tell me I was pulled.”

His lighthearted comment masked his worry. On the four hour long night drive northward, Howard noticed that Jason seemed genuinely cut up about the impending loss of the Apollo Theatre. As special as it was to them, it was only a building – why drive for so many hours in the middle of the night to go and stand at the railings that had been erected around the condemned site and stare at a building?

“It’s not just a _building_ , Doug.” Jason sighed softly, his breath misting on the frigid air. “This is where it all started, isn’t it? For the both of us.”

And suddenly Howard understood. This wans’t about the Apollo – not really. This was about _them_ ; where they’d started and where they’d reached, and how they’d somehow managed, despite their sometimes differing paths, to always end up following the tracks of the other. This was about something that was a part of both of them coming to an end, and Howard then finally understood why it made Jason so upset. Their history had always been important to him.

So Howard became determined to make this night special for him.

“…right, come on you; get climbing.”

Jason watched in surprise as Howard jumped up, grabbing the top of the railings and hauling himself over. “We can’t do that!”

“Aaaw Jay, who the hell’s gonna find out, eh? Come on, move your arse – if I can get myself up and over this fucking thing you should have no trouble.”

“What if somebody catches us?” Jason was questioning it even as he followed Howard in their ascent over the fence.

“Then we end up on the front pages of tomorrow’s news. No biggie.”

"Oh God yeah, that's all we need – ‘Take That Tresspassing Shocker: Donald and Orange Reveal Their Shared Criminal Tendencies’! I can see it now…"

The poor old Apollo was in a sorry state. There were huge gaping holes in her roof, beams cracked and broken hanging from ceilings and lying across floors, her paintwork chipped and cracked and faded by nature’s cruel elements. If they closed their eyes, though, they could turn the clock around them back to 1989 and the way everything had once been.

Jason smiled warmly as everything came flooding back to him, clambering up onto the stage and looking around appraisingly. "Lot of good memories from up here…"

Howard smiled softly, folding his arms on the edge of the stage and resting his chin on them, gazing up at him. "Lot of good ones from down here 'n all." He watched Jason execute an idle spin on one foot, his grey coat fanning out and swirling around him as his body turned full circle, the scarf following suit a step behind. 

"…this is the first view I had of you, y'know. You up there and me down here. Fuck, that was such a long time ago..."

Jason chuckled, nodding and moving to sit quietly on the edge of the stage beside Howard, his legs swinging softly. “Twenty five years. That’s longer than a lot of people stay married for, these days!”

Howard laughed, and the sound gave Jason that little squirm of happiness he always felt when he managed to draw such a noise from Howard’s lips.

“D’you remember when you said you’d marry me?”

Jason’s cheeks flushed at the memory, and he smiled, nodding. “You never actually said _no_.”

“…I didn’t, did I?” Howard grinned up at him. “Mind you, you’d have to be mad to turn _you_ down.”

“Tell that to my string of exes.”

Howard shook his head. “Can’t go tying you up with somebody you were never meant to be with. You’re picky, you are – fucking picky. You need somebody who knows how to put you back in your box now and then.”

Jason turned quiet, and Howard begun to fret that he’d perhaps overstepped the mark there and said something offensive. He looked up again, opening his mouth to apologise, but paused. He knew Jason’s eyes, had seen their changed shift in hue from blue to grey over the years, and could always guess how he was feeling simply from the expression on his face.

And right now, Jason was tense. Nervous. Tentative.

Howard found himself becoming less worried about whatever he might have just said, and more concerned with whatever Jason was _about_ to say.

“…Jay?”

“…d’you think someone I’ve known for twenty-odd years would know how to put me back in my box now and then, Howard?”

Howard gulped hard. “…I think I’d have a pretty good idea, yeah…”

In that moment, the world around them turned silent. In a cold, abandoned concert hall that had seen its best days fade into increasingly distant memory, two men with dust in their hair and snags on their coats finally reached the end of the prologue of their story. For one fleeting moment, each saw the other as they had first met there in that dark space, the memories of disco lights and the musty scent of a smoke machine fading back into their collective consciousness; the skinny boy with the bright smile and the shy lad with conflict in his heart.

Theirs had always been a tactile relationship, but they both knew how different things had become in a single moment when Jason slipped down lightly from the stage’s edge and pressed his front against Howard’s, their eyes locked on one another’s and their noses touching. A little further forward, and at last, the kiss that Jason had attempted to initiate oh so many years ago finally blossoms. And it is beautiful.

He would later joke with Howard that if he’d not been such a prude back then, neither of them would have had to have wasted all those years missing such tender, passionate kisses. But not right now. Right now, he was overwhelmed, but in the best of ways, smiling in delighted disbelief and letting Howard slip his arms around his waist snugly, pulling their bodies in closer together. For all the shit they’d been through with one another, tonight had been worth it.

Because tonight, two decades’ worth of patience had finally been rewarded, as promised.


End file.
